


Lowkey F 2020

by leftofhere



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU: it's fucking 2020, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Carry On Quarantine, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, i dont have an interest in mimicking rowells writing style, i promise this won't actually talk about covid past the first chapter in any real way, no pov switch, oh my god they were roommates, probably, quarantine fic, sorry fam, this is just the 2020 version of a snowed in fic prove me wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftofhere/pseuds/leftofhere
Summary: Carry On but when Simon goes to Baz's place for Christmas, quarantine hits, and their investigation gets put on pause. And then stays on pause. And then stays on pause.A story told somewhat in vignettes, tied together by an overarching romcom plot. Some talk of the COVID-19 pandemic, but as little as I can manage, because I also do not want to talk about it--so, more talk about the boys re:corona trends.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever write a 30-smthn chapter fanfic in one fandom, leave for five years, and come back with a second degree, a career in writing, and a whole new gender because 2020 is so fucking rough that you just want to write some smutty fluff that doesn't have to appease anyone but yourself? hi. anyway stream "F 2020" by avenue beat and go tell your trans friends you love them.

"We're under what?"

Simon stood behind Baz, peeking around his shoulder in the doorway--another instance of Baz's height getting in Simon's way. Baz only had the door open enough just wide enough for himself, meaning Simon had to get on his tiptoes to conduct his usual nosing around a situation. On the other side of Baz was Baz's father, Malcolm Grimm, as far away from the door as he could be, back pressed up against the hallway wall, elegant scarf wrapped inelegantly around the bottom half of his face.

"Quarantine," Malcolm said, his voice muffled under the scarf. "We have no idea what this thing is or how it works."

"Certainly we have _some_ option here," Baz said. "This virus is--it's for Normals. We must have _something_ we can do."

Simon could hear the shuffle of what he assumed was Malcolm shaking his head, but as Baz frustratedly leaned against the door frame, Simon's view was blocked. Simon huffed and retreated back into Baz's room. He flopped down onto the couch, lying down and and crossing his arms as Malcolm said, "Well that's the _problem_ , isn't it, Basilton? It's a virus for Normals, meaning magic hasn't shown any effect. And the Normals, well. They're handling it as one would expect."

"And we're just expected to, what? Stay here?" Baz huffed. Simon sighed. He looked at the ceiling, trying to puzzle out how they were going to keep on with the investigation now. Maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe it would force him to actually think hard enough to put the puzzle pieces together. Or, at least, maybe it would help Penny do that.

"For about two weeks, yes," Malcolm said. "After that, I'm sure we'll have something figured out. But we need to make sure none of us have been unwittingly infected, especially since the two of you boys have been at that school. Who knows how many students have been carrying this _thing_ without realizing."

Simon pushed down the panic in his gut--panic didn't help anything. He tried to think of ways they could continue looking for who killed Baz's mother, but the gears in his brain felt like the cogs had all fallen off entirely. There was only spinning, no traction, but they kept spinning so _fast_. Simon got his phone out of his pocket and quickly texted Penny, "You alright?"

"This is absurd," Baz said, and Simon realized that the conversation had continued while he failed to pay attention. "You can't stop us from leaving?"

Simon sprung back to his feet. "What? With magic? Is that even possible?"

"Possible and _necessary_ ," Malcolm replied. "And regardless, it's already been decided. You two will need to stay here under order of--well, of everyone. For the safety of yourselves and others. But really, it shouldn't be for too long. Surely they'll have made either a vaccine or a spell against it in due time. Until then, Simon, The Mage is . . . _aware_ of your presence here. He's sending your belongings from Watford along."

Simon furrowed his brow. "He doesn't want me to go back?" Simon ignored Baz's stare, which sliced through the air directly to him. Baz stopped leaning and stood up sharply, his posture stick-straight--which meant Simon couldn't see over his shoulder anymore, but he _could_ see around him again.

"It doesn't seem so." Simon couldn't see Malcolm's face, but he could tell he was wearing a smug grin under all that cloth. Simon knew the shape of those eyebrows. Most of Baz resembled his mother, but this seemed to come from the Grimm side of the family.

"So we're stuck here," Simon said, "together?"

He didn't know why he said it. It was a stupid thing to say. Yes, obviously, they were stuck here together. And there wasn't really anything different about that than the two of them rooming together at Watford, was there? So why did it feel different?

Malcolm simply shrugged while Baz continued his unacknowledged stare. "I'm sure you two will manage. At least you'll have some more time for this involved school project, it seems. Well. Basilton, we'll send gifts up to the room tomorrow. And we'll be sure to send up your meals as well. As--as much as we can."

Simon watched as Malcolm locked Baz in an icy stare--and then watched as Baz tried to hold the glare right back, only to look down in defeat quick after. It was a look Simon wasn't used to on Baz's face. It looked somewhere past embarrassment. It looked, Simon thought, maybe like shame.

"Right," Baz said. "Thank you for informing us." He didn't wait for his father's reply to close the door. Once it was closed, he slumped against it, running a hand through his hair. Simon stood there, waiting, not sure what to do or say.

"Well," Simon eventually settled on impotently, "here we are." He closed his eyes, trying not to let his embarrassment show through.

"Yes, Snow," Baz said through gritted teeth. " _Here we are_."


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ever think about kristen stewart's jaw? this isn't related to anything it's just 2020. i just sometimes y'know. think about her jaw. go drink a cup of water take your meds cashapp a Black woman $20 have a good day

The problem with spending your life not thinking unless directly told to think is that when nobody is there to tell you to think, your brain still somehow chooses to think. This was, at current, the foremost problem for Simon Snow, who did not anticipate the nightmare of thought.

But Baz had been uncharacteristically quiet once he, Simon, and Penny communally agreed that with a mandated quarantine, they couldn't exactly go about . . . well, Simon didn't really know. Whatever they were supposed to do when they thought of something to do. This was the thought that lingered with Simon as he laid on the couch looking at the ceiling. He realized how much time he'd spent watching as Penny and Baz puzzled out leads and theories while he waited to be pointed like his sword.

He didn't know why, but as he laid there, frustrated with himself for being little more than a gun with no target, other thoughts turned over in the back of his mind. He pushed them down as quickly as he could--it was easy, second nature, but they just kept turning. Why didn't The Mage want him at Watford? Why did it bother him? Why was Baz being so quiet and fidgety? Why did it bother him?

Simon sat up. Baz, sitting on the edge of his bed, looked over in surprise. He raised an eyebrow at Simon.

"We're still on truce, yeah?" Simon asked.

Baz blinked. "Are you planning on attacking me, Snow?"

"What? No," Simon said. "I just wanted to make sure. Are _you_ planning on attacking _me_?"

"Hmm. No anathema here." Baz looked up pensively. "I suppose I could. I'd wait until you weren't expecting it, though."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell if you're joking."

"You'll just have to wait and see, then." Baz said it with a smirk, but rolled his eyes moments after. "No, Snow, I'm not going to attack you. We're still under truce, given nothing has . . . changed. And while I'm not thrilled to be spending these two weeks trapped in here with you, I'd rather not have you going off and wrecking my perfectly nice room."

"Perfectly nice?" Simon said with a huff. "If I didn't think you were a vampire before, this room would have proper tipped me off."

Baz's gaze hardened, and Simon could tell that he was about to say something cruel, pivot away from the topic at hand to cut into Simon and remind him that they were enemies while dodging the accusation altogether. But then, something else happened. Baz's eye caught the edge of his stupid bed, and his breath got caught in an undignified choke-laugh.

The corner of Simon's mouth curved into a grin as Baz said, as seriously as he could, "I cannot _fathom_ what you mean, Snow. The decor is positively . . . quaint." Baz's shoulders shook as he tried to stifle a laugh. Simon, meanwhile, made no such attempt. He laughed loudly, more than he had since this whole _ordeal_ started.

"Making fun of yourself now?" Simon asked.

"Well, I can't just keep making fun of you. Too easy, and I'm too bored. My brain will rot from lack of a challenge."

Simon didn't want to laugh, but his body didn't care. He kept laughing, and Baz's laughter grew into something more real, more warm.

"This is going to be absolute rubbish, isn't it?" Simon asked, still laughing.

"Oh, tremendously," Baz said, nodding. "It's day, what, three? And I'm already _so_ bored. I tried thinking more about everything we've been working on but it just--it's infuriating to be stuck here instead of taking action."

Simon nodded. "What are we going to _do?_ "

"Fight to the death?" Baz offered.

"No, Baz, we just said--"

"Right, right. See, it just really is too--"

"Wait." Simon felt a gear in his head regain a cog and click into place. "You dodged the accusation! I was trying to make sure you didn't, but then you did anyway!"

Baz raised an eyebrow. "Accusation?"

Simon gestured to the room, wildly waving his arm about.

"Use your words, Snow." Baz's voice was cold again. Simon _knew_ he knew, and he knew that their time for jokes in this conversation was over. Why did it bother him?

"You are a vampire," Simon said clearly. "And your stupid room proves that, but I bet this was all here before that even happened. But--but--wait, Baz, what are you going to _do?_ " Simon felt his heart starting beating faster as his thoughts churned faster and faster. "You can't--you can't leave and just, I dunno, what, bite someone. Even if you did, you can't really do that successfully through a mask, can you? And we don't know how this virus works, so--"

Simon realized he'd jumped up from the couch and started pacing. His body acted while he sprinted through his thoughts, and by the time he realized where he was, he was steps away from Baz, who was still sitting on his bed. Baz's gaze at Simon looked so . . . open. Here was Simon, accusing Baz of not just being a vampire, but being a vampire who probably preyed on people, and Baz just stared at him. No furrowed brows. No frustrated posture. No sense of a mental wall between them. Baz just looked at him, and Simon looked back.

"Are you going to be alright?" Simon asked. And then, the wall was back, the furrowed brows were back, the crossed arms were back, and Baz's mouth postured into a scowl. Before Baz could retort, though, Simon spoke again. "Stop it. Are you going to be _alright?_ "

Baz looked away. "I'll be fine," he said quietly. "My father sent up a note with breakfast saying I'll be allowed out every few days."

"But what about the virus?"

"Crowley, Snow, you can't _seriously_ believe I feed on people, can you?"

The implication hung in the air. Simon's suspicions were half-concerned by Baz being allowed out, but this confirmed it. Why _didn't_ it bother him?

"I dunno," Simon said with a shrug.

"There's--there's deer nearby. And other wildlife." Baz was still looking away.

"Oh," Simon said simply. "Well, good."

" _Good?_ "

Simon started speaking and walking before he knew what we was saying or doing or why. He was walking back to the couch to flop back down. He couldn't handle being so close to Baz as he said, "I don't think deer can carry the virus, probably. So. This seems safer for you."

Baz didn't respond. Simon laid back down on the couch, staring back up at the ceiling, trying to look relaxed and nonchalant but probably failing. He knew their relationship had shifted now that Baz admitted to being a vampire. But Simon didn't expect everything to still feel the same.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you signed a petition lately? are you registered to vote? unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. how many BIPOC YouTubers do you watch? how many BIPOC people do you follow on twitter? drink some water. tell your friends you're proud of them. anyway. i have seen kishi bashi live twice and both times i have sobbed. pls go listen to this song i am convinced it is the one he plays in the book because baz is the most dramatic bitch

Baz wasn't plucking the strings or using the bow, but Simon could hear the notes he was practicing up and down the violin's neck as Baz's fingers drummed up and down. It was day 7 or 8 or somewhere around there, and the two still hadn't really figured out how to beat the boredom. Baz read sometimes, sulked mostly. Simon mostly just looked up at the ceiling, sulked as well. Sometimes they watched TV, but Simon found it difficult to engage or even pay attention. Baz seemed to be in the same boat.

But today was the first day Baz had gotten out his violin. Simon knew Baz played; he'd staked out when Baz took lessons back at Watford. But during the lessons, Simon just listened as best he could. More than once, Simon almost left the hallway to go outside underneath the balcony to hear him play better, but he'd always stop himself, remind himself that his purpose wasn't a free concert, it was keeping tabs on his nemesis. That was difficult to remember when Baz's playing was so nice, though. It was strange to Simon that out of everything, these stakeouts were ones that Agatha left behind. If _anything_ were to make Agatha even more lovestruck over Baz, it'd be his playing.

Simon realized he'd wrapped his arms around himself thinking about that. About Agatha, he decided. He didn't miss her much, but he did miss any kind of physical affection. He'd gotten so used to resting his head on Penny's shoulder, hugging Agatha even if sort of apathetically. He wished he at least had the option of a hug here. It wasn't like he could just walk up to Baz and say, "Hello, Basilton, I would like a hug please."

Baz knocked a string accidentally, bringing Simon back to the present. Simon didn't listen to much music. He picked things up from other kids at the homes he stayed at during the summer, but when left to his own devices, he didn't even know where to start. He knew about streaming services and YouTube--they might have been made by and for Normals, but they easily broke into magician culture. He just didn't even know what he liked. Sometimes, it felt like when he didn't have a task at hand, he hardly even existed. He didn't think he liked classical music, but he knew he liked when Baz played, at least.

"You can just actually practice," Simon said. He was sitting on the couch, as usual, and Baz was sitting on the bed, as usual. He looked a little bizarre and definitely uncomfortable, sitting on the very edge of the bed, back stick straight, violin on his lap like a ridiculous tiny guitar.

"No," Baz replied.

"Why not?"

" _No_."

Simon crossed his arms. "Is that even really practicing? You're only doing half of the thing."

"First off, Snow," Baz said, looking haughtily away instead of meeting Simon's challenging gaze, "I'm doing it because I'm bored. Second, what do you know about practicing anything? Have you ever practiced something? I can't tell based on how poorly you execute anything you do."

Simon smirked. "I usually don't need to. Just good at things. Never had to practice for anything you tried to pull on me."

"I know a certain chimera who'd beg to differ," Baz retorted right back. "Anyway. No. It'll be loud and obnoxious and I'm--I could use the practice before anyone has to hear it. And I never really intended on playing violin in front of anyone in the first place."

"Well I've already heard you play. You saw me outside your pretentious practice balcony to make sure you didn't eat your teacher."

Simon watched Baz's shoulders tense, even though his expression remained the same. Simon had started noticing things like that more, little moments when Baz would look perfectly nonchalant except for small tensed details. Right now, Baz's shoulders were half an inch higher than usual, the blades further back and closer together than usual. It was easier to see in Baz's _slightly_ more casual clothes here.

"It's different," Baz said. "And I didn't--you--were you there the _entire time?_ "

Why did that make Simon blush? "No," he lied. "I have better things to do than just . . . wait around for you."

" _Do_ you?"

"Whatever," Simon scoffed. "I just thought it'd be a way to kill some time, but I guess we'll just sit here in silence for two weeks, doing absolutely nothing."

They looked at each other for a moment. Then, Baz got up, went to the velvet-lined violin case he'd delicately placed on his desk, and got out one of the two bows from inside. He opened another smaller compartment in the case and got out a puck of something that looked like scratched up amber, a square of fabric on the side opposite the scratches.

"What's that?" Simon asked. He got up from the couch and went over to where Baz was, observing. Baz started dragging the puck up and down over the bow, leaving a powdery residue behind.

"It's called rosin," Baz said.

"But what _is_ it?"

"It's a sort of solidified tree sap that helps the bow hairs gain friction against the strings, which is how they make sound," Baz said. "Now can you at least . . ." He huffed and looked away from Simon. "Can you at least go back to the couch, or--or not watch me?"

Simon grinned. "Do you have _stage fright?_ "

"This is hardly a stage, Snow," Baz grumbled. "Now just--hush, and don't look at me."

Simon put his hands up as he walked back to the couch. He sat down, facing as directly away from Baz as he could.

And then, Baz started to play. At first, it was just a few simple notes, plucked in a way that made them sound somehow round. But then, Baz muttered something under his breath (for a moment, Simon though he was chastising himself for an indiscernable mistake), and then those notes started playing again, exactly how Baz had played them the first time--but now, Baz was somehow playing again on top of those notes. Another layer as the first layer of notes cycled. Simon's eyes grew wide, and it took all of his self control not to turn around and see how he'd done it. Magic, obviously--but Simon wanted to see what it looked like.

The second layer was faster plucked notes. Simon didn't get why Baz had gone to the trouble of using the tree sap. He just kept building layers and layers of plucked notes. It was pretty--it was _beautiful_ \--but it didn't seem to need the bow. But then, Baz hit what must have been the fifth or sixth layer. Stacks and stacks of plucked notes, round solid beats underneath delicate, airy faster notes laid the foundation for what Baz played next. With his bow, Baz played a lush, fluid melody. It didn't sound classical. There was something too loose about it, something that felt sung.

The bowed notes knocked the wind out of Simon. He gasped, just quietly, and wheeled around in the couch before he could stop himself. He couldn't pay attention to what he was doing when the combination of sounds was filling his mind.

But while Simon hadn't been watching Baz, Baz _had_ been watching Simon. He took his bow off the strings, took his violin off his shoulder, and scowled.

"Sorry!" Simon said quickly. "Really. Sorry. Please continue."

The plucked notes still repeated, filling the air. Simon thought the moment would probably be tense and hostile if those notes weren't so gorgeous. Baz raised his eyebrows, and Simon nodded quickly as he realized Baz was waiting for him to turn back around. Simon didn't want to, but he did anyway.

And Baz went back to playing. Simon closed his eyes and sat back, letting himself just take the music in. The song was so pretty and so haunting, and something about it was just so desperately _sad_. Or, maybe not sad--something else. It sounded like wanting. It sounded like distance. It sounded so _lonely_. Simon didn't know much about music, and he didn't know if this was his taste, but he felt like he still understood it.

The main melody Baz was playing fell away, made room for something different and looser. The notes wove their way up and floated back down, like a cluster of dried leaves in the wind. Simon opened his eyes back up and hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Baz's eyes were closed this time, and he was swaying with the music. Simon turned around on the couch. The fingers of Baz's left hand moved so quickly, so gracefully, while his right arm and wrist carried the bow across the strings so smoothly. The violin looked less like a tool and more like part of Baz, and Baz looked less like a human--person--and more like a part of the music.

And then, Baz muttered another quick spell under his breath. The violin dipped with the movement of his jaw just for a second. Once the spell was cast, all of those pizzicato layers were in double time. Simon's jaw dropped. Baz kept playing, and rested his arms on the arm of the couch, and his head on his arms. Somewhere in his mind, Simon knew he should be pissed off about this. Here was yet another thing Baz was incredible at, as if magic and football and planning and thinking and plotting weren't enough. He was an artist, too. But Simon just couldn't bring himself to feel anything but captivated.

But then, right as Baz jumped from one note to another, he stopped playing with a huff. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Simon, who was looking directly at him.

"Why did you stop?" Simon asked. He'd be frustrated with the pout in his voice if he'd felt it weren't justified.

"I told you not to look!" Baz started walking back over to the violin case. Simon hopped off the couch and walked towards him.

"Couldn't help it," Simon said. "Why did you stop?"

Baz shook his head. "Didn't like the execution of the arpeggio. The timing was off."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

Baz rolled his eyes. "An arpeggio is--"

"No, it sounded amazing! If the timing was off, _nobody_ but you would have even noticed."

"Maybe you're just unobservant," Baz said. He turned away from Simon to put the violin away, but Simon was _sure_ he caught a smile on Baz's face.

"What was that song?" Simon asked. He moved closer to Baz, leaning over the violin case to look at it more closely. He tapped one of the two gauges, watching the needle shake lightly at being jostled. When Baz didn't answer, Simon looked over at his face.

Baz looked full stop broken. Like Simon's question had stopped all of Baz's thoughts in their tracks.

"It's . . ." Baz started, hesitantly. "It's by Kishi Bashi. It's called--the name is incredibly dramatic. I was just learning it so I could figure out his looping technique with--"

Baz was dodging the question, and that meant Simon _had_ to know. "What's it called, Baz?"

"It's called . . ." Baz groaned. "It's called 'I Am the Anti-Christ to You.'"

Simon couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. " _Merlin_. Who is this Kishi Bashi? He sounds even more dramatic than _you!_ "

"That's--his name isn't Kishi Bashi, it's Kaoru Ishibashi, it's just his first initial and--"

"'I Am the Anti-Christ to You.' Merlin. _Merlin!"_ Simon wiped a tear from his eye. "Well, it's pretty, and I like it, and even though I hate to say it, you play fucking well, Baz. Practice all you want."

"That's quite enough for today, thanks," Baz said. He closed the violin case and started zipping it up.

"Can you play the original song for me?" Simon asked.

"You have a phone, Snow, I'm sure you're capable." Baz put the case down beside his desk and straightened out his shirt. Simon rolled his eyes and got his phone out, navigating to YouTube. He wasn't sure which version to choose, so he just started playing one that said it was the album version. It started similarly to when Baz played, but it didn't connect with Simon in the same way. The vocals came in, and they were pretty, but Simon just wanted to hear more violin. Simon watched Baz hop back onto the bed, crossing his legs as he sat. Occasionally, Baz's eyes would flit over to Simon with suspicion, but Simon didn't mind.

"Why are you staring at me?" Baz asked.

"I'm not," Simon said. "And besides, what else am I supposed to look at?"

"What?" Baz looked at him incredulously. "Literally anything else in the room."

"I like hearing you play this more," Simon said. "His version's fine, but yours is better."

"Ugh," Baz groaned. "Stop looking at me."

Simon didn't. Baz reluctantly smiled.


End file.
